


Hope Unlooked For

by Melusine6619



Series: Nightingale Series [8]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:31:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas' wife is determined to visit the Dwarves in the Elf King's dungeons. A Hobbit based Legolas/Dulinneth ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Unlooked For

“Legolas, I’m going to visit the dungeons.”

His wife’s declaration catching him off guard, Legolas’ fingers stilled and he looked up from the arrow he was re-fletching. “Why?”

“To see the Dwarves.”

“Why?” he asked again. He studied his wife’s face a little more closely. Dulinneth had that look in her eyes that meant she would go whether he thought it a good idea or not. He could read her thoughts there as easily as if she had spoken. His wife’s duty as a healer was as strong as her love and loyalty to him. “They were healthy enough to fight,” he said, rising from his seat and moving to stand before her.

“But you said they claimed to be set upon by spiders. What if one of them has been bitten?”

“Galion will look out for them.”

“Galion,” she whispered, “is not the same since his son’s death. You know he drinks too much sometimes.”

He looked at her for several long moments, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear. “Why did I have to fall in love with such a determined woman?” 

Dulinneth’s smile was answer, and reward, enough, and his own eyes glowed as he watched her hurry away to gather a basket of things to take with her.

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine, Legolas.”

“I know,” he replied, replacing the knife he had set aside earlier. “I’m coming with you.”

****

Thorin Oakenshield glared at the iron bars in his cell door and swore. Dwarvish make. Curse whoever had helped these loathsome Elves carve out these caverns. Or maybe they had already been here and the Elves had come and taken them over. He would not be surprised. 

He studied the door and its hinges, the walls surrounding it. All stoutly and sturdily made, as befit his people. He would not be able to escape this way. For a moment he slumped against the door, his fists grasping the bars. To have come so far, to be so close … 

But worse still than this torment of Erebor standing but a short distance away, yet unreachable now it seemed, was that he had no idea what had become of his men. Were they lost in the forest still? Or had they found the way out of this accursed land? 

The turning of a key at the door above made his head snap up and he stepped back from where he stood. His ears picked up the slight swish of a knife or sword being unsheathed. So this was it then. An ignoble end in an Elven dungeon. Well he would not cower like a dog. He crouched, ready to spring.

A voice came from the darkness outside his cell. A woman’s voice. She spoke rapidly in her tongue and then the deeper voice of a man replied. Before he could recall any of the Sindarin speech he had learned in his youth, the key turned in his own door and a candle blinded him briefly as the door swung outward. 

A woman bearing a basket stepped into the cell and warm green eyes met his, searching, for what he had no idea. For an instant Thorin was transported back to Erebor, to the love he had lost that day long ago. But this was an Elf woman, and her hair was brown, not red. Thorin nodded curtly to her, tucking the old wound away. There was no changing the past, much as he often wished he could.

The other, the man Thorin had heard, now stepped forward and Thorin recognized him immediately as the captain who had captured him and marched him here. In his left hand he carried the candle, in his right, a long-bladed knife that glittered in the light, sharp and deadly. He recognized him, too, for he was. 

“You are Thranduil’s son.”

The Elf warrior acknowledged his statement with a slight narrowing of his eyes. “I am. And this is one of our healers, who insists on checking you for injuries, despite her husband’s wishes. You will not harm her.”

“I would never harm a lady,” Thorin growled, lifting his chin proudly. 

The woman turned her head and spoke to the man again, her voice low, while she laid a hand upon his knife arm. Thranduil’s son gazed at her and then at him, and reluctantly re-sheathed his knife and stepped back outside the cell after setting the candle down. Thorin had no doubt that knife, or the dagger in the Elf warrior’s belt, would be in his throat the instant he tried to escape.

“Are you all right?” she asked in halting Westron. 

“Well enough, but for being caged,” he replied, his speech curt. 

Her eyes softened even further and she said, her voice low, “Our forest is dangerous. Our king must keep his people safe.”

“I am nothing but a weary traveler who has lost his way. I mean no harm to anyone.”

A warm hand caught his, then lightly touched his brow. “Were you bitten? By the spiders?”

“No,” he answered. “Wrapped up like a babe, but not bitten.” 

She smiled. “Good. They are deadly.”

The woman removed her hand and reached into her basket for a jar. She removed the stopper and moved to touch his face with something pungent. 

“It will take away the sting of your cuts.”

The salve was cool and her fingers were gentle as she smoothed it over the latest injuries he had received. An instant later the slight burning pain disappeared, as if he had not been hurt at all. He smiled at her gratefully.

“You have been kind, my lady. Would you be kinder still and tell me of my men, if you know anything? Have they been seen? Are they safe?”

She glanced behind her. Thranduil’s son spoke quickly and shook his head. The healer moved to him, and from where Thorin stood he could see she had once more placed her hand upon his arm in a familiar gesture. He wondered at it. Was she the prince’s sister? They spoke urgently for a few moments, until Thranduil’s son nodded and the woman caught his hand and brought it swiftly to her lips. His wife then? Before he could decide the woman had returned.

“Your men are safe,” she said, smiling. “But of them I can say no more.”

Thorin studied her face. Her words implied she knew more, perhaps knew where they were. But he understood; duty and loyalty to her people came first. He bowed to her, caught her hand and then kissed the back of it. “I thank you, my lady.”

He released her hand. Thranduil’s son had already stepped close, and Thorin nodded to him and backed away a step. “Thank you,” he said again.

They walked out of the cell together, locking the door behind them, then the woman turned and smiled again at him before she walked slowly away. Thorin moved to the door and stood there as the one above clanged shut. Alone again. 

But at least his men were safe. And there was some hope in that. Perhaps, even now, they drew closer to the Lonely Mountain. 

Perhaps …


End file.
